Proposition
by yavinfour
Summary: Single, jobless, and desperate for cash, Rose Duchannes agrees to be Eric Northman's personal feeder after the outbreak of Hep V. She has no idea what she's getting herself into. Eric/OC
1. Chapter 1

**wow, true blood is finally over. am i happy? am i sad? who knows. but eric and pam have now, in canon, literally taken over the world so i can rest easy.**

**now, onto the story! i've been fiddling with this for a while; it's a s7 AU where eric doesn't fuck off and get hep v because, come on.**

**enjoy :)**

* * *

"I have a proposition for you," he says simply, and that's how it all starts.

It's not the first time I've heard something like that, and, knowing my luck, it probably won't be the last. It was a phrase you threw out when you were a kid trying to act like you were important, and that what you were going to say was, in fact, mutually beneficial. More often than not, the person who says that to you is full of shit. I can't take anyone who says that seriously. At least, not unless it's said to me when I'm in a fancy restaurant, a full glass of champagne I could never afford in my hand, and a handsome, older sort of gentleman sitting across from me with a look in his eye that says he's half a second away from ripping that expensive dress off of me.

Instead, that harsh bitch known as Reality has me sitting in a vampire bar in Shreveport, without any alcohol to speak of (even though I sorely needed it). Granted, the man that said it to me was handsome and older, but the limit my imagination put on it was ten years older - twenty tops. Not a thousand year old vampire.

The vampire part didn't bother me that much. Neither did the thousand years old thing, I decided, unabashedly raking my eyes up and down his tall, fit body. He's practically bursting out of his racerback, and that is almost enough to have me accept his 'proposition' without question.

No, I'm not exactly in a position to decline. But that didn't mean I couldn't have some fun with it. Eric Northman has started this game, and he could be damn sure I am going to play it.

* * *

Come to think of it, maybe this all starts with my pain in the ass best friend. I never give Georgia a lot of credit, but I have to hand it to her; this has been one of her better schemes.

Georgia Wyatt suffers from a severe case of not knowing when she's being a total inconvenience. It's incurable, no matter how hard I've tried to prove otherwise. In high school, she took it upon herself to play matchmaker, much to the chagrin of just about everyone involved. She orchestrated a handful of relationships, some lasting, some...not. Even I - who never really had problems with finding a date - had Georgia to thank for introducing me to my first serious boyfriend. It was never going to go the distance, not with me moving away in tenth grade and his sister's less than warm feelings towards me, but it was fun while it lasted.

She always had her hands in these kinds of things, and I'm a fool to think it would have stayed in high school where it belonged. I really should have expected her to be up to no good when my phone rings at one a.m.

My head has barely touched the pillow when my cell rings from the bedside table, and I don't have to look at the screen to know who its – the fact Georgia is one of three people with my new number notwithstanding. I let out a string of curses that could only be described as unladylike, reach over for the phone and put it against my ear without even opening my eyes.

"What did you do?" I grumble.

Georgia breaks into a fit of giggles, which is really the only clue to tell me she is drunk. "Hey, Rose. Did I wake you?" She's slurring her words, too, which just about proves she has reached Drunk off Her Ass territory.

"Would it matter if you did?"

"Hmmm, not so much." She giggles again. In all the years we've known each other, I keep telling her she cannot hold her liquor; she takes it as more of a challenge than the fact that it is. "But, you're awake anyway so you can come pick me up."

"Can I now?" It was difficult to argue with that logic, but I can always find a way. "What happened to 'I promise not to drink too much so I can drive myself home'?"

"The hottie who kept buying me vodka happened." Ah.

There is no way I could say no, no matter how comfortable in bed I was, no matter how much I couldn't will myself to get out of the house. I owe Georgia - a lot. She took me in after I left New Orleans and I had no place else to go. Despite the fact she works as a waitress and has to support two kids under six by herself, she let me stay with her under very generous conditions. So, when she needs to be picked up at some annoying hour from God knows where, I'm going to do it.

"Wait, where exactly are you?" I don't remember her telling me where she was going. I don't even think I saw her at all today thanks to my backwards sleeping patterns.

Georgia hiccupped. "You know that bar in Shreveport I was telling you about?"

So when she needs to be picked up at some annoying hour from a vampire bar in Shreveport, I'm going to give her shit about it.

I don't hate vampires at all, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not tense around them. Ever since the Tru Blood factories were blown to bits and the Governor's vamp camps made the front page, vampire-human relationships were strained, to say the least. It's hard not to be a little wary of each other; even vampire rights activists are worried. I think the best thing for me to do is to stay out of it altogether, but my dear friend is making that a little hard for me.

"What the hell are you doing there?" I throw the covers off and swing my legs from the bed, pressing the phone between my ear and my shoulder.

"Shhh," Georgia coos, as if she's talking to her daughter rather than me. "It's fine. They just took my keys. Said they can't risk another incident."

An incident meaning a human death. After everything that's happened in the past few weeks I'm surprised the vampires are concerned with saving face. Hell, I'm impressed this bar is even open. "That doesn't answer my question."

"It's fine, Rose," she repeats more sternly this time, "and you won't even have to get out of the car. Promise."

"I'm beginning to think your promises don't mean a whole lot."

Georgia just giggles again. "I love you, Rosie Posie."

"You are a pain in the ass, Georgie Porgie."

We hang up, and I dress quickly, throwing on a pair of jeans and grabbing a jacket on the way out. I jump in my car that's parked on the dirt road outside Georgie's house, grateful for the fact it has GPS. I could navigate New Orleans like nobody's business, but there is no way I would have been able to make it to Bon Temps without it. The nostalgia hit me as I drove through the small town a few days ago and despite my heavy heart, I smiled. I kept in touch with Georgia after I moved away, racking up insane phone bills and mailing each other almost every week. We barely saw each other in person but despite this, she readily accepted me as a new roommate. Her exact words had been 'you owe me, and you will babysit for me when I need you to.' Looks like she was cashing in that first part now.

I punch in the name of the bar (Fangtasia? Really?) into the car's navigation system and I'm off, praying to any God that will listen Georgia doesn't get herself into any trouble. That is usually my forte. Rose Duchannes and Troublemaker were practically synonyms; my mom always said I got that troublesome streak from my dad, but my foul mouth was all her.

Soon and without breaking any laws, I was in Shreveport, pulling into the parking lot of this damn bar. I'm hardly surprised that Georgie isn't waiting out front for me, yet that doesn't stop me from being upset. "Fuckin' Georgie," I swear as I park the car. I sit in silence in the car for a short moment, before I pull out my phone and call her. It rings and rings and rings out. Fuck.

I step out into the brisk night air and make my way to the bar. It wasn't too long ago that I would be strutting over to a club in New Orleans, throwing my hair over my shoulder as my hips sashayed. The bright lights and pulsating rhythms would work a spell over me, making me feel alive. I can't even describe how much I missed that feeling.

My reminiscing is cut short as the door bursts open with a bang. A man is thrown out unceremoniously, falling to the dirt and rolling away. In a flash he was on his feet, fangs bared. He looks like a total slimeball, his greasy hair flat against his forehead with a thick moustache above his lips. I flinch back as someone else emerges from the bar: A woman, blonde and impeccably dressed; her leather corset pushes up her breasts and accentuated her tiny waist. She is beautiful in a scary way. And I'm impressed.

"When I said no feeding on the humans," Vampire Barbie drawls out, "I meant it."

The vampire that was dumped on his ass lets out a low growl. "I only wanted a small taste," he reasons in a thick Russian accent.

"You're about to get a small taste of my stiletto six inches up your asshole," she replies, her hands firmly on her hips, "so I suggest you leave while you can still walk."

I have to bite back a laugh, but with their superb hearing, it's most likely useless. The Russian spits at her feet, mumbling under his breath as he vanishes out of sight.

"Fuckin' Russians," the woman mutters. She directs her attention towards me, asking in the same bored tone, "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah," I reply, standing up straight. There is something about this sophisticated yet homicidal woman that makes me very ashamed I didn't throw some make-up on and put a little more effort into my appearance. For this, I blame Georgia. "I'm here to pick up my friend. Georgia. Tiny, blonde, can't hold her liquor to save her life."

Vampire Barbie gives me a once over, the corners of her mouth lifting up into a smirk. "I know the one," she replies, turning on her heel. "She's inside."

I nod and follow her into the club. There was more life to Fangtasia than I had expected – pun definitely intended. Fangbangers are here dressed in outfits that would make a stripper blush, grinding up against vampires that don't even bother hiding their fang-boners. If I wasn't so pissed off and under-dressed (or is it over-dressed?) this would be my style.

I scan the bar, looking for my drunk friend, when I catch sight of an empty throne sitting on a raised dais. I can't help but roll my eyes – that about sums it up. Whoever uses that obviously and totally thinks of themselves as king shit. Ahead of me, Vampire Barbie continues on, past the throne and into a backroom.

"Rosie!"

Georgie pushes her way through the dance floor and comes bounding over to me. She jumps in my arms and hugs me tightly.

"You are so drunk," I laugh, patting her back. "C'mon, time to get you to bed."

I try steering her towards the door, but she yanks on my arm, pulling me back to the bar. "No, stay, let's have a drink!"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Please, Rosie?" Georgia juts her bottom lip out. "You've been depressed all week. Loosen up a little, have fun."

Before I have a chance to defend my mental state, the back door opens and Georgia jumps up and down. Vampire Barbie walks out into the main area, a wide smirk on her perfect pink lips, and she isn't alone. Behind her was a tall, handsome-as-all-hell man – vampire, I correct myself. Judging by the way he carries himself, there is no way he's human – strides across the floor, the crowd parting for him like he was Moses, like he owned the damn place.

And he probably does.

He walks up to the throne, folding his body neatly as he took a seat, in total control of his movements, and perfectly aware that everyone in the club couldn't take their eyes off of him. Clearly, he is more than confident in himself, and he gives off the aura of danger, the kind of guy you wouldn't take home to mama – and that's what makes it more exciting. What kind of girl doesn't love a bad boy?

His gaze flits over the crowd, stopping right on me. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, and he raises a finger, beckoning.

"Wait here," Georgia says, "I'll just be a sec."

Was it presumptuous of me to think he had been looking at me? Probably. My ego has taken enough of a hit these past few weeks, and I had been holding out for a chance to build it back up. I purse my lips and run a hand through my hair. I wasn't on tonight. I hadn't been on for a while. I watch as Georgia skips up the steps towards the throne, speaking quickly and animatedly.

Even as she talks to him, his eyes kept flicking back to look at me – and that isn't my good, old-fashioned narcissism talking. Georgia is gesturing over to me as she talks and that just makes me frown. I turn away from the display, spot the sign for the bathroom, and hurry over.

God must not be listening to me today, since the bathroom isn't as empty as I would hoped it would be. The vampire lady from outside is checking her reflection in the mirror, fixing her already immaculate hair. "Oh, I didn't realise anyone else was in here," I say.

"No need to apologise," she replies, catching my eye in the mirror. "Plenty of room in here for us girls."

I offer a tight smile and move to the sink next to her to check my own appearance. One look in the mirror and I want to groan. My cheeks have no colour in them, the bags under my eyes are there as a big flashing neon sign, announcing to the world that I am tired of its shit. The best I can do at the moment is a quick finger brush, and a little Scarlett O'Hara cheek pinch. What I really need is my attitude back, but apparently I left that in New Orleans.

"Here, honey." A lipstick is dangled in front of me and I can't help but narrow my eyes at it, before Vampire Barbie snaps, "I would take advantage of my incredibly rare lapse in judgement and just take the fuckin' thing."

Relieved, and only a tiny bit scared, really, I reach for the lipstick. It's a nice pink colour that thankfully doesn't clash too much with my hair. I hand it back to her, my smile less tight than previously.

"A little better," she says, eyeing me up, and I think that's as close to a compliment as she can get. "Girls have to stick together and all that. So, what happened to your little friend?"

I shrug a shoulder as casually as I can. "She got a better offer."

The corners of her lips lift. "I'll bet she did."

I'm not normally this cowed when it came to other women, but damn. The light flirting did bestow upon me a much needed confidence boost (the lipstick helped, too). I gave my hair another flip, I gave Vampire Barbie another smile, and I turned on my heel and left.

I push the door open and head for the bar, thinking that one small drink wouldn't hurt. I don't know how much longer Georgie is going to be; a quick glance over to the throne shows the two of them still in deep conversation, but their eyes still flicked towards me - his a little more subtle than Georgie. Whatever. She can have her fun, but I'd much rather be at home in bed.

Jesus, what is wrong with me?

"You looking for some company tonight, Malyshka?"

My drowning in self-pity is interrupted. I swivel on the chair, and just when I thought the night couldn't get any worse for me, I'm face to face with The Russian from earlier. How he snuck back in is beyond me, but I am not in the right place to deal with this shit. If it was at all possible, he looks even greasier, and has a manic look in his eye that sends a shiver down my spine. He smiles down at me, his yellow fangs on full display. I grimace.

"Do I know you?" I ask. Before he can even reply, I snap my fingers in recognition. "Oh, that's right! You were that vampire who got dumped on his ass." I laugh forcefully. "That pretty much made my night. Let me know if you're up for a repeat performance; I sure could use another laugh."

Ah, fuck. Turns out, an asshole with a grease problem is what can pull my attitude out. She's there, peeking around a corner, hesitant but waiting, though I'm not sure she's welcome right about now. At least I'll be able to stick it to Georgie; she drags me out and I get eaten by a vampire. She could tell that one at parties.

The Russian growls as I turn away from him and hope the crowd around us will dissuade him. It doesn't, since he grabs my arm and whips me around. "I wasn't asking," he grits out.

I narrow my eyes. "Uh, actually, I think you were. Do they not teach grammar in Moscow, comrade?"

"You are going to regret that, Malyshka," he says. He tightens his grip around my arm, and it takes everything I have not to yelp. I try to wrench it back, but he's too strong for me. People around us are beginning to pay attention, though no one has stepped in to help. I see deep black veins crawling up his neck and my eyes widen.

The Russian notices my change in expression and he attempts to pull his shirt collar up his neck. "Hey, buddy," I say, a slight shake to my voice. I up the volume; I need to speak over the music for this dumbass plan to work. "Those veins look a bit rough. You may want to get that checked out."

Thank God that gets somebody's attention; I had absolutely no follow up. Until this moment, I had never come across a vampire with Hep V. It's all anyone could really talk about when you mention vampires now. Humans everywhere are getting tested, and vampires with the disease, well…

One look at The Russian tells me it isn't something to take lightly.

Vampires and fangbangers alike stop their dancing and turn to face us after my announcement. Normally, I'd like the attention, but there are a couple of factors really prohibiting my enjoyment at the moment. Murmurs break out among the crowd, and The Russian growls again, finally releasing my arm.

"You have Hep V?" a leather-clad vampire asks, his fangs popping out in an instant.

"The bitch is lying!" The Russian insists. He pulls his collar up further while he waves a hand over to me, the bitch in question. "She's making it up. Not dealing with rejection very well."

"Are you kidding me?" I cry, but it's lost in the music and the commotion. More and more people are starting to pay attention, clearly torn between believing the greasy son of a bitch that I'm nothing more than a thirsty, desperate fangbanger, and the paranoia that a vampire with Hep V is this close to them. Some take a few hesitant steps back. "Look at his neck!"

Before they can, The Russian grabs my arm again and snaps me towards him. I stumble off the chair, gripping the bar top tight. "I'll kill you!"

"Enough!" A loud voice booms. Heads snap over to where the vampire talking to Georgie stands up out of his throne. "Pam," he says to Vampire Barbie who is at his side in an instant, "please show our Russian friend the door. No need to be gentle, but make sure he doesn't infect anyone on his way out."

In a blur of movement, she - Pam - is behind The Russian, clamping his arms behind his back."Haven't I already thrown you out tonight?"

He struggles, but she is ultimately too strong for him. They make their way to the outside, The Russian continuing to shout obscenities in both English and his mother tongue. Most of them are about the '[Russian expletive] bitch' and what they used to do to [Russian expletives] in the Soviet Union. Most eyes were on him, so I take that chance to sneak through the crowd and escape out the back.

The night air hits my flushed face, and I welcome the coolness, letting out a huge breath I didn't realise I was holding. The whole reason I escaped to Bon Temps was to get away from shit, to relax. Now, not even a week later, me and my big mouth find themselves in this clusterfuck. It was bound to happen, I know, but I would have preferred it later rather than sooner. I send Georgie a quick text letting her know I haven't completely abandoned her, that I'll be waiting for her in the car. But apparently my night is far from over.

There, right by my car, is King Shit himself.

He's leaning against the door, the perfect blend of intimidating yet casual. A thrill shoots through me as I take in his leather jacket, his broad chest, his thick thighs, and his bad attitude.

Why would I like him?

"You caused quite a scene in my club," he says in a low, husky voice.

I lick my lips. I'm wired, buzzing with adrenaline, every nerve on fire. I have to not think about how good this man looks and how great his voice is. "I'm sorry, was I supposed to sit there quietly and let the evil vampire kill me? Did _my scene_ interrupt you or something?"

He chuckles, "Green is a terrible color on you."

"Hmm, well, asshole looks fantastic on you."

"Most things do."

I got the whole cocky asshole thing figured out from the second I saw him, but this seals the deal. And I'm a little ashamed of how into that I am. But I choose not to focus on it because a) I'm pissed off something fierce, and b) see: a).

"What are we going to do about this?" he continues, enjoying himself immensely.

"Apparently we need to have a talk about workplace health and safety," I bite, "as well as a little thing we like to call 'victim blaming.'" How in the hell is this my fault?

His smile is threatening, but there's a glint of something I can't name in his eyes. He pushes off my car and takes a few steps closer to me. I stand my ground, a completely idiotic move, I assure you. "I look forward to it. Come back tomorrow night and we can discuss it."

I bristle. "Excuse me?"

"Midnight, sharp." The way he says it leaves no room for argument, but that doesn't stop me.

"And if I don't?" I challenge, folding my arms across my chest.

He smirks and shows me a flash of fang. "Then I'll just have to come and get you myself. And that will only be fun for me."


	2. Chapter 2

**aw, thanks for the great feedback guys! I was actually worried that people wouldn't take too kindly to Rose, my little spitfire, but so far it's all been good. And we've only scratched the surface with just how much these two crazy kids will piss each other off.**

**EDIT: I'M SO SORRY I FUCKED UP I'M TRASH. I accidentally edited the first chapter to be replaced with a super old draft version, but it should be alright now. My bad.**

* * *

Some really sick, twisted, defiant part of me wanted to see what Eric Northman would actually do if I didn't turn up at Fangtasia tonight.

He probably knows exactly where I'm staying. He probably knows a lot thanks his little conversation with Georgia last night. She still hasn't told me what they were discussing, which does nothing to curb my suspicions that it was about me. The only thing Georgia has let me know is his name - not that that helps me in the slightest. I was fully prepared to stay put tonight, only Georgia had managed to convince me to go. Her exact words were 'Dammit, Rose, you need to get the hell out of this house!'

So I did.

I was lying on my bed, staring at nothing, when it hit me. What use was it to sit around all day? I had stopped feeling sorry for myself a while ago, and I was just in a state of nothingness. I had no job, no place to live, just...nothing. It's the only way to describe it. I was just existing. So, the first step was to get up, get dressed, and get out. Granted, I got up, got dressed, and got out, probably on my way to certain death or some kind of prolonged torture, but at least I'm doing it on my terms. Or something.

Georgie squeals in the passenger seat as I drive us to Shreveport, clapping her hands together. "I'm so happy you're coming out!"

"It's a crappy vampire bar, Georgie," I reply, "not the fucking Oscars."

"You told me you used to love to go out dancing." She pouts and I resist the urge to scoff.

"Yeah, in New Orleans. Where people actually dance and drink and have fun, not where I have to be worried my throat's going to be ripped out."

"It's usually very safe there," Georgie stresses, "you can't judge it just based on one stupid Russian."

"I wasn't talking about The Russian."

It takes a second for it to register, but when it does, Georgie's pout is replaced by a bright smile. "Oh! You're talkin' about Eric, right?"

"Your concern for my safety is overwhelming."

"Don't be so dramatic. He's alright."

I blanch. "You're nuts. Or did you just miss the part where he threatened me?

Last night, after Georgia found me fuming inside my car, I had relayed my meeting with Mr. Eric Northman to her. The drive back to Bon Temps consisted of me cursing and Georgia just grinning at me as I did. She didn't seem too concerned then, but I had just chalked that up to her being off her face drunk. I'm starting to think there's more going on here, but what?

Georgia shrugs and brushes her bangs back. "He seemed really keen to see you again; I'd take it as a compliment." Raking her eyes up and down my body, her lips purse. "Maybe you could've dressed up a bit more, too."

I frown, a little offended. Considering my situation, with how quickly I moved back to Bon Temps, I had only packed the bare minimum - which did not include corsets and hooker heels, unfortunately. Still, I think I look more than passable in a loose, spaghetti strap black top (with the girls looking good thanks to a strapless push-up bra) and my favourite pair of black skinny jeans. This time, I had been able to put some make-up on, and with my boots, I thought I looked hot.

She brushes back her bangs again and fixes the top of her deep red dress, adjusting her cleavage without any hint of shame. "You do know you're not supposed to be drinking tonight, right?" I remind her. "You're here to get your car back."

"Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun." Georgia winks.

"If I recall correctly, you can't handle 'a little' fun," I laugh, before I stop immediately. "Jesus, when did I become the responsible one?"

She giggles. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, _mom. _I have the early shift at work tomorrow, anyway."

"Isn't that what you said the night you got pregnant?" I snort as Georgia smacks me in the arm.

Pam is out at the front of Fangtasia when we arrive, checking ID's and monitoring the queue for the club. It's a lot earlier than when I turned up last night, so there are more people around. The corners of her mouth lift when Georgia and I make our way to the entrance. I turn for the back of the line, but Georgia, looping her arm through mine, pulls me over to the door instead. I'm all for cutting the line, batting your lashes at the big, imposing bouncer to sneak in ahead of the queue, but they seem much easier to manipulate than Vampire Barbie.

"Hi Pam," Georgie smiles brightly at her. Pam ignores the guy at the front of the line holding out his ID, and smiles back.

"Eric is going to be so disappointed that you showed up," she says to me in that bored drawl, "voluntarily, that is."

My smile is as bitter as that douche's name makes me feel. "Good."

Pam chuckles and waves us through, which further irritates the man in the leather, who does not even look old enough to be let in. He raises his voice towards us, but Pam - my hero - shuts him down completely. "Maybe if you looked half as good as they did, I'd let you in…"

Her tirade is drowned out as we enter the main floor of Fangtasia, swallowed in the pulsating music and the chatter of the crowd. I underestimated how much better this place could look when it was near capacity; it seems so different now than it was the night before. I guess it hasn't been as hindered by Hep V as I thought. A supply of Tru Blood is probably a decent draw too, now that those bottles have become something of a hot commodity. The throne is also empty, and I have to wonder if Eric is here, even after his threats to me last night. Maybe he didn't want me showing up so he could go fetch me himself.

Why was I even entertaining that idea? Why did that send a bolt of excitement through me?

I didn't want a crazy vampire out stalking me, doing God knows what to me. No matter how hot I thought he was. No matter how much I could see him doing naughty things to me. These are bad thoughts; get your shit together, Rose.

From the moment I step into the main floor, I feel eyes on me, humans and vampires alike. I seem to have made more than a small impression last night; at least I look a little better tonight if, by some crazy random happenstance, I'll need to give a repeat performance. Georgia and I push our way through to the overcrowded bar that's manned by an irritable vampire, snapping at everyone who tries to order a drink from her.

"That's hospitality," I comment, watching as she snatches the cash from a girl's hand so hard that the bills rip in half.

Georgie clicks her tongue at my thinly veiled sarcasm. "She's nice enough once you get to know her."

"Are you friendly with every vampire in Louisiana?" I ask dryly.

"I knew Tara before she...you know," she waves her hand vaguely. "She worked at Merlotte's for a spell. She's alright."

Tara slams a drink on the bar and slides it over, not even minding the way it spills over the rim. "She's delightful."

"You know, you two would probably get along great," Georgia says with a grin, before gasping out loud. "There he is!"

I follow her gaze to a door near the back of the club, the same one I was staring at last night, where Eric Northman is currently standing, eyes scanning the club.

Son of a bitch, he looks good.

Momentarily, I forget just how pissed I am at this man. The bad boy in the leather jacket look works for him, but this? This _works_ for him. The clear contrast between his attitude and the crisp suit has me worked up in a way that I haven't been in a long time. I saw my ex in a suit almost every day, so much that I barely even noticed it in the end. But this was something like a religious experience. Eric Northman looks damn good in a suit.

Did I say good? I mean terrible. Awful. Really.

I keep my expression as unimpressed as I can when his eyes lock on mine. He raises a finger, not even stepping out of the boundaries of his office, and crooks it, just like he did to Georgia the night before. In response, I raise an eyebrow. Play it cool.

Well, I was playing it cool right up until Georgia nudges me in the back and I stumble forward. "Georgia, what the fuck?"

She's grinning, her eyes bright with mischief. "I'm giving you a much needed push."

"I always thought that was a metaphor."

"Stop arguing and get over there!" There she goes, shoving me again. She's lucky I love her. "I'll see you tomorrow...maybe." Her grin is sly this time, and I know exactly what she expects will happen.

Gathering myself and the remnants of my dignity, I straighten my shoulders and walk over to Eric, weaving in and out of the couples grinding on the dance floor. He watches me the entire time, and I maintain eye contact as well. My heart thumps against my chest, in time with the bass of the music vibrating throughout the club. Just what is about to happen to me?

When I reach Eric, he turns and leads me into what appears to be his office; it's fairly mundane, not at all what I would expect given his vampiric nature and the decor of Fangtasia itself. He takes a seat behind his cluttered desk, and gestures for me to sit across from him.

He steeples his fingers as he leans back in his chair, looking simultaneously delectable and menacing. "Miss Duchannes."

"Mr. Northman," I reply shortly. There's a small twitch in his smirk and I raise an eyebrow; two can play at this game...whatever the hell this game is.

"I'm glad to see you haven't almost started another riot in my club." His dry humor is almost endearing.

Probably because mine is so similar. "It's still early."

Eric offers me his interpretation of a smile, the corners of his mouth lifting. He's barely let himself blink this entire time, something of a hard edge in his eye. He's stretching this out, enjoying the torture, hoping that I break first.

"I have a proposition for you."

Wait. What?

_Is this like a sex thing_? Is what I want to ask right off the bat, and a tiny (almost non-existent, I swear) part of me hopes it is. But I restrain myself, knowing full well it's going to be some kind of bizarre punishment for the 'scene' I caused yesterday. Although, I find that the mixed feelings I have with regards to dear Mr. Northman here are punishment enough. Eric frustrates me, and I still want to have my wicked way with him.

The bastard probably enjoys that most of all.

"Are you clean?" he asks.

"Am I-" I pause. "Is this like a sex thing?"

I voiced that aloud this time and hate myself for it. I told myself I was supposed to be aloof, play it cool, toy with him as much as he seems to be toying with me. Everything but falling into whatever trap he's setting.

"Not quite," Eric replies, almost leering at me, "but I understand why you'd want it to be." He ignores me when I roll my eyes, but he's not wrong. "Have you been tested for Hep V?"

"Yes," I say hesitantly. "Before I left New Orleans."

"And?"

"I'm clean."

He seems satisfied with that answer, and my confusion slowly ebbs away to anger. What, exactly, does it matter to him if I have Hep V or not? I narrow my eyes, and say, "Hang on. I didn't infect The Russian. None of that was my fault."

"I'm aware," he replies calmly, seemingly unperturbed by the tone of my voice, but the hard set of his jaw tells a different story. "This is no longer about The Russian; it's about you and me."

_You and me? _"There is no 'you and me'."

"Not yet." Oh, boy. I frown and say nothing; just sit back and wait for His Highness to elaborate and for me to laugh in his face. My heart hasn't stopped racing from the moment I stepped into the office; I'd be lying if I say I'm not a little frightened, being here alone with a vampire who doesn't exactly think the world of me. I'm a bundle of conflicting emotions - anger, fear, excitement (that last one is what pisses me off the most.)

Eric keeps staring at me as he explains. "Now that Hep V is impeaching on my regular feeding habits, I have to make sacrifices. If my survival means entering into a monogamous arrangement with a clean human, so be it."

Woah.

Wait.

Woah.

My heart actually skips a beat. "You want to _feed on me?"_ If I have anything to say about it, he would not be getting his fangs anywhere near my veins. But that's a big 'if.' I lick my suddenly dry lips. "Why me?"

Eric pauses for a short moment of deliberation, though I highly doubt he'd care if he offends me. "Frankly, I find you infuriating -"

"The feeling is mutual."

"- but there's nothing extraordinary about you." He stares intently, as if trying to read my mind and work me out on the spot. "Calling you boring would be insulting, but you're normal. I'm looking for someone who won't be too much trouble for me. In a certain sense."

I narrow my eyes. "Boy, you sure know how to make a girl feel special."

"Unless you misheard me, I said I don't want special." Eric clenches his jaw, and I have to stop myself from laughing at his frustration. Giving him a taste of his own medicine and all that, and something tells me that very rarely happens. A very old and very attractive vampire would have no problem getting someone to do something for him. At least he's afforded me the courtesy of actually 'asking' for my blood.

That doesn't answer the question as well as I hope, but I'll be damned if I'm getting more out of him. Leaning back in my chair, I fold my arms. "What makes you think I'm even interested?"

"What makes you think it's any good to pretend you aren't?"

Now it's my turn to clench my jaw. Despite my best intentions to rattle him, to throw him off, his smirk remains firmly in place - I think it even got bigger. I just know I'm not proving to be the worthy opponent I thought I was, but fuck, I can't agree to this! Who the hell does he think he is? Who the hell does he think _I_ am?

"Sure, buddy," I say, getting ready to leave. I stand and brush the invisible specks of dirt from my jeans. "Thanks for all the backhanded compliments; I'm flattered, truly. I'll have my people call your people, and maybe we can work something out-"

"I'll pay you," Eric says with a little smile, and that changes everything. The promise of payment, not the smile, that is. Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little flutter in my stomach at that. I freeze, and we both know he's won this round. Slowly, I raise my eyes from my jeans to meet his amused gaze.

"Your friend has informed me of your current...circumstances," he continues wryly. Just how much does Eric know about me? Georgia is going to be getting a stern talking to about privacy. "And I think this little arrangement can be mutually beneficial."

"How much?" I ask before I can stop myself, hoping the desperation isn't as blatant as it feels. "How much would you pay me for my blood?

"More than you're earning now."

Infuriating has stopped being a valid word to describe this vampire.

"Do I get to think about this?" I hazard, needing to buy some time here. "Or are you just going to take my blood regardless?"

Eric chuckles, a low sound from deep in his chest. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a monster."

I stare at him. I've known him for about thirty seconds and even _I_ find that hard to believe. Again, he ignores my look and goes on, "You weren't my ideal choice -"

I let out a snort of laughter.

"- nor are you my last." He stands, buttoning up his jacket, and I feel a little tingle shoot up my spine. Damn, this asshole knew how to work a suit. I force myself to maintain eye contact, to not drag my eyes up and down his lean body. "You have one day."

"Fine," I say with a tight smile. "Good night, Mr. Northman - or morning, whatever." I hurry out of his office, my hand on the door when I hear his voice behind me. I can practically _feel_ the smirk on his face.

"I'll see you back here tomorrow night, then. Good evening, Rose Duchannes."


	3. Chapter 3

**thank you all for the great feedback! and regarding my other story Virgins, Saints, and Angels, I haven't abandoned it! I'm just having a lot of fun with this one. I have to be in the right, downhearted, and dramatic frame of mind for that one.**

**enjoy, and thanks again guys! xo**

* * *

For the first time in a long time, I go out for a run.

Running is the way I deal with stress, or anxiety, or any type of stifling emotion. It's been that way since I was eight years old, when I ran away from home in the middle of one of my parents' legendary arguments. Don't get the wrong idea, though; I was brought back by the Sheriff two hours later, which just led to more arguments when they realised I had left. It was a bitch of a thing, especially when dear old dad locked me in my room to prevent me from running away again. But that's a different story.

After last night, my head was spinning, and it wasn't the alcohol's fault. I had completely checked out as I left Eric's office, the club, and jumped into my car to drive back to Georgie's place. I trusted Georgia enough to be able to make her way out of there on her own.

Georgie has already left for work by the time I wake up, dress and start stretching. It's a warm day, and it takes all of two minutes for me to start sweating. Not much has changed in the years I've been away - a big new house on the other side of the cemetery is one of the only changes - but the run also helps me get my bearings again, remembering all I can about my home town. I never had much of a chance to go for a run like this in New Orleans, and now I have all the time in the world.

I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I made an utterly rash decision to quit my job, not taking into consideration what would happen if I did. Breaking up with my boyfriend - who also happened to be my boss - was even worse. I didn't have a whole lot of money to begin with, and then, without a steady income, I was fucked. I couldn't afford my rent anymore. My mom was on the other side of the planet with her new European boyfriend, and I couldn't even bring myself to ask her for money. Trying to land a decent-paying job without a college degree was like asking me to perform open heart surgery with one hand while simultaneously playing Mozart with the other. I was well and truly fucked. Just not in the way I prefer.

So, with nowhere else to turn, I packed up my measly belongings, told my landlord I was gone, and hauled my sad ass all the way back to little ol' Bon Temps. I can't freeload off of Georgie forever; she has a kid to think about, and I would never ask her to put up with me for nothing. I have no way of paying her; offering to babysit Marie - even with as much as I hated kids - is the best I can do for now.

I can't really be considering Eric's offer, right?

I've never been afraid of vampires and the idea of one feeding off of a willing human didn't phase me too much. Right up until one of them says he wants me to be his own personal blood bag. Some rational part of me thinks Eric wouldn't put me in danger; why go to all this trouble to recruit me? Why not just feed on me and be done with it?

Unless he just likes to play with his food before he eats. Ugh, God.

Feeling the familiar thump of a headache coming on and the burn in my chest and thighs, I start slowing down, in desperate need of water and food and someone to talk this over with. I follow Georgia's basic directions up the dirt road and winding path to Bellefleur's Bar and Grill. It's a quaint restaurant; the most popular in town, according to Georgia.

"Hi, welcome to Bellefleur's!" chirps the red headed hostess as soon as I walk in the door. She tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes me. "I haven't seen you 'round here before, you new in town?"

"You know everybody in town?" I reply.

"You'd be surprised. Anyway, name's Arlene." She holds out her hand and I shake it firmly.

"Rose-" is all I get out before Arlene starts up again.

"Oh, you're Georgia's friend, right?" She snaps her fingers as I'm led to a booth. "She's talked about you before; she's real excited you're back in Bon Temps Though, for the life of me, I can't figure out why you'd wanna come back."

I slide into the booth and grin up at Arlene, her enthusiasm infectious. "Georgia could find a way to get excited about smallpox."

Arlene laughs, passing me a menu. "If you need anything, give me a holler."

She turns to leave as Georgia walks up to the booth. "Hey, Arlene, I'm just gonna take five minutes. So?" Georgia says to me, sliding across from me. "How did it go?"

"Oh, no," I reply, "you do not get to grill me first. I know it was your bright idea to pimp me out."

She shrugs. "It's no big deal. I'm doing it too."

"What, really?"

"Yeah, really. I'm helping out a local vampire, and he and I went to Fangtasia to tell Pam and Eric about it. It was Pam who asked me if I knew anyone interested."

"Why does everyone think I would be interested in that?" I try to keep my voice down, but that's a lost cause by this point.

Georgia levels me with a stare. "Because I know you need the money. Everyone in town is talkin' about it; Sam came up with the idea to partner up or whatever until the Hep V stuff blows over."

The way she talks about me needing money is completely right, and I'm almost bowled over by the guilt that hits me. I groan and drop my head in my hands.

"People here aren't doing it for money," Georgia goes on, patting my head sympathetically. "There's rumblings about the infected vamps getting more aggressive, so partnering up with a clean one also comes with protection for the human."

This must have been going on for a while for someone to have thought about it so much. I lift my head from my hands and say, "So why did he offer to pay me?"

"Now that I don't know." She purses her lips before grinning wide. "Maybe you can ask him when you see him tonight!"

"Jesus, George," I laugh, "Do I have to give you ten per cent of my pay too?"

"I wouldn't say no; nothing about those two screams poor." She giggles along, then sobers up, frowning at me. "If you don't do this, what else are you going to do? Get a job here?"

I snort, "Yeah right. I value my life too much, thanks."

Georgia smacks my arm. "Don't say that."

Georgia can joke about a lot of things, but she's always been wary of continuing to work here, since most of the waitresses don't have very long life expectancies. She's lost a few friends over the years, and if she didn't need the money, she would have left a long time ago. At least she has more common sense than I do.

"I should get back to work," she says, sliding out of the booth and tightening her ponytail. "Think about it, okay? Trust me on this, it might not be as bad as you expect."

That's asking a lot; she wasn't alone with the scary vampire last night. Georgie takes my order and hustles off to manage the lunch rush, leaving me with my thoughts for company. I can barely stand Eric Northman - how am I going to manage letting him drink my blood? He even said himself, he finds me infuriating - so why would he even want to feed from me? Jesus, what a clusterfuck.

I have to make a decision soon. He's expecting me to have an answer for him tonight, and I gather there's only so far I can push him before he snaps and does something to me. It could be as simple as a 'Thanks, but no thanks,' if I wanted it to be. But that also means saying goodbye to what can only be decent money. Money which I need. Eric the Asshole was right; it's more than what I'm earning now, whatever it is.

Shit.

There's really only one, very eloquent way to sum this up.

Fuck it.

"Rose?" A new voice cuts through, snapping me back to reality. "Rose Duchannes?"

Oh, fuck. This cannot be happening right now. I'm gross and sweaty and in no way ready to face him. Right now, my options are severely limited: I could dive out the window next to me and run away, or I could suck it up and face it like a man.

I'm leaning towards that first one.

Unluckily, the decision is made for me, as my darling high school boyfriend's face pops out in front of mine.

"Shit, it is you!" Jason Stackhouse cries, a huge smile on his face boyish face.

I can't help but smile back. "The one and only," I say as he reaches down and pulls me into a hug.

"I had no idea you were back in town." He releases me and slides across to Georgia's vacated seat. "I always thought you'd be gone for good."

"You know you can't get rid of me that easy, Jase."

The words leave my mouth before I can think, and his smile falters, then becomes awkward. I feel it too; banter comes naturally to me, and I never think about what I'm saying until it's too late, after the mistake has already been made. It was meant as a joke, of course, but the fact was Jason has tried to get rid of me before. As crass as that sounds, it's true. He broke up with me before I moved away to New Orleans, and it wasn't a good time for either of us. I shrug it off, though; it's been too long to hold a grudge, and I'm a big girl now.

Georgia comes back with our lunches - Jason having decided to dine with me so we can catch up - saying hi to him and giving me a surreptitious nudge before she leaves. As he starts stuffing his face full of burger, I give him a proper once over, only then noticing his outfit.

"Hold up," I say, and he pauses, his burger halfway to his open mouth. "What the hell are you wearing?"

He frowns down at his uniform before puffing up his chest all manly like. "Oh, yeah, it's Deputy Stackhouse now."

I bite my lip, holding the laughter at bay. "Seriously?" He nods, looking proud. "Wow. It's a good look, Jase - uh, Deputy Stackhouse." I offer him a mock salute.

"Damn right," Jason says, continuing his assault on his hamburger.

My first thought had been discount stripper, but the truth was much more surprising. Deputy Stackhouse. I never would have picked it. He's no longer the fresh-faced jock I remember from school, but I can still see traces of it as we talk. I remember the crush I had on him, the way we would flirt with each other, the way Georgia orchestrated our hook-up and subsequent dating. Then, I remember the awful break-up. Thinking back, maybe it wasn't that bad, but sixteen year old me had a flair for the dramatics.

"So what are you doing with yourself these days?" he asks, starting in on his fries.

Oh boy, where should I start? "Well, I, uh, recently left my job back in New Orleans. I decided I needed a change of pace, I guess."

Jason waves a fry at me, grinning. "Big city life not workin' out for you?"

"Hm. Suppose not." I smile back with very little mirth.

"Only took you ten years to figure that out," he says, popping the fry in his mouth. "Anyway, it's good to have you back, Rose...you are staying, right?"

He looks so hopeful and I can't answer him, because the truth is, I don't know. I didn't have anywhere else to go, but I don't want to live in Bon Temps for the rest of my life. The best I can do right now is shrug and say, "Who knows?"

I soon lose track of time as I catch up with Jason, and a quick check of the clock hours later has me sighing. "Sorry to cut this short, but I gotta head off. Duty calls."

He stands and slides out with me, pulling me in for another huge hug. "You got a job already?"

Squeezing him back, I say, "Something like that. I'll see you 'round, Deputy."

I say a quick goodbye to Georgia, who gives me a sly little smirk and a wink; I just flip her off in response. The sun has set by the time I make it back to the house and jump in the shower. I'm not sure what an appropriate time is to arrive at the club - too early, and I look too eager; too late, and I risk the wrath of Eric.

After the shower, I wrap myself in a towel and stare at my pathetic excuse for a wardrobe. I'm taller than Georgia, so nothing she had could fit me; I have no disposable income to go out and spend on a new outfit. If I hadn't already decided to take Eric up on his proposition, I sure as hell would now. I slip on red jeans, and couple them with a cropped, long sleeved top. I slap on some make-up and run a brush through my long hair.

On the drive to Shreveport, I run over the things I needed to say to Eric. I'm not going to accept this offer blindly, and he's stupid if he thinks I would. If his first impression of me left him with anything but doubts of my stubbornness, I didn't do a very good job. After the impulsive shit I've pulled in the last month, I need to think things through this time, which is so not me.

I pull into the parking lot outside the club, give myself a once over in the mirror, and resign myself to my fate. I follow behind a couple decked out in their best BDSM gear, my heels clicking against the pavement. Pam is out the front, as usual, conversing with the bartender - Tara, I recall. Tara seems less irritated than I saw the night before, but still has something of a scowl on her face. There's no queue (am I early?), but Pam still stops the couple and asks for their ID. I don't waltz right past them like I did with Georgia - mainly because I'm floored when Tara sends me a withering glare. If looks could kill.

I stare back, raising a challenging eyebrow, which is probably a dumb move, all things considered. Had she overheard me last night? I hadn't said anything too terrible, had I? I'd call that a win in my book...which, again, is probably a dumb move. I can't recall doing anything to her - in fact, I can't even recall her from anywhere other than the bar last night. She mutters something to Pam, who spares me a quick glance, before spinning on her heel and vanishing into Fangtasia. Weird.

The couple in front of me is waved in and I step up to follow them.

"Well, hi there," Pam says to me,"I didn't expect to see you back here again."

"Didn't look like I had much of a choice," I reply with a saccharine smile, continuing past her. Until she holds up a hand and stops me in my tracks.

"Uh-uh, honey," says Pam, enjoying this a little too much. "ID, please."

I stare. "You're serious?"

"Deadly."

"I've been in here before. You've let me in. Why do you need to see my ID now?"

Pam wiggles her outstretched fingers. "Those were rather extenuating circumstances, and poor judgement on my part. Besides, Eric would have my ass if he found out I wasn't doing my job properly. So-" she smiles, and I'm more scared than reassured - "ID, please."

"And we couldn't have that, could we?" Eric would have her ass? Please. This is probably all his idea. I reach into my purse and pull out my ID, handing it over to Pam. She gives it a long look, the corners of her mouth lifting. She flicks her gaze up and cocks her head, scrutinising me next.

"Twenty-eight?" Her eyes narrow. "You look younger."

I choose to take that as a compliment. "I guess I could say the same for you."

She chuckles. "He's waiting for you in the office. Have a nice night, Rosalie Marie," Pam says, giving the card back and gesturing to the club's entrance.

"No promises."

I enter Fangtasia and ignore the withering glare Tara the Bartender is sending my way. In fact, I lift my head even higher as I walk through the dancefloor, over to the office near the back. Without even thinking, I open the door and walk in. There's Eric, sitting behind the desk as usual, going over paperwork. It's such a strange sight, seeing this intimidating, age old vampire doing something so mundane as paperwork. I bite my cheek to stifle the laughter that's definitely threatening to burst out.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock before entering?" Eric mutters, not even lifting his eyes from the desk.

I click my tongue, all trace of laughter vanishing the second he opens his mouth. "Nope. I think she was too busy dealing with divorce number three to be concerned with trivial things like manners."

No reaction, which was unexpected. That revelation usually gets me a few outcries of sympathy, and a load of questions fired at me. Eric is silent, still mulling over the papers as I stand by awkwardly. I decide to take a seat without waiting for an invitation. Still nothing. I'm almost ready to start tapping my foot and sighing with great exaggeration when he looks up at me and leans back in his chair.

"Whenever you're ready," I say dryly.

"This may upset you to hear," Eric deadpans, "but my entire life doesn't revolve around you."

Ironic. "I'll remember that next time you need some of my blood."

Eric's smirk twitches. Almost a smile. "I take it you've thought about my offer."

"I have," I say, inspecting my nails. "And I've decided - against my better judgement - to take you up on it." Before he can reply, I cut him off, "But I have some conditions."

He tilts his head, sizing me up. "Alright, I'll humor you."

I rise from the chair, looking down my nose at him in a stunning display of superiority. "One,"I begin, holding up my index finger, "You'll leave no visible bite marks after you feed."

"Hm." Eric makes an amused little sound. "I had a suspicion you liked it rough, but I suppose that was a mistake on my part."

I scowl, biting back the retort. "Which brings me to two -" another finger goes up - "no sex."

"Agreed." He says it so quickly that I have to say, I'm a little offended. I'm not embarrassed about my attraction to him, but I'd rather not be paid for fucking him. I have standards. Shit, even I didn't believe that.

A third finger. "Three, no glamouring or mind control or whatever the hell that is. If we're doing this, I'm going to be a willing participant."

"Are you finished?"

"And finally…" I return to my seat and cross my legs all primly. "I reserve the right to change my mind on any of the above. Now I'm finished."

I'm no fancy-pants big city lawyer, but I knew enough from the ones that hung around mama for most of my life to leave yourself options. And if one of those options happens to be having rough sex with Eric (and letting him leave a mark), so be it.

He smirks over at me, and I send him back a tight smile. Now, he stands and looks down at me with a dangerous look in his eyes, and by God, I feel a hit little twist in my stomach. Eric makes his way around the desk to stand in front of me. "I have some terms of my own."

I raise an eyebrow, waiting, not backing down at all.

"One," Eric mocks, lifting a finger, "you will not ask me for more money. Two, you will not be getting any of my blood for any reason. And three, this is not a relationship. I am not your boyfriend, so do not expect me to act like one."

Oh, there is no problem with that. With any of that. In fact, it all sounds perfectly reasonable. I'm not going to extort him, I do not want any of his blood, and I definitely don't think he's boyfriend material. But, for the sake of it all, I tilt my head to the side, considering.

"I suppose that's agreeable." I get to my feet, aware of just how close we are now. Even in heels, I'm only able to reach his shoulder which is not ideal for my notions of power play. I extend my hand, and he looks down at it before flicking his gaze back to my face. He grasps my small hand in his huge one, and I'm momentarily shocked at how cool it is. Then, my shock is increased tenfold when he refuses to let go.

I try to wrench it back, but, being much stronger than I am, it's useless. Eric begins to pull my hand upwards, towards his mouth.

Fuck me.


	4. Chapter 4

**hey guys! I so apologise for the long wait. thanks for all the responses to this, it's been awesome :)**

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I've been with a few men in my mere twenty-eight years on this earth. Some good, some not so good. Some that made me want to bleach my brain after just one date. But I can say with no small amount of certainty I have never been with a biter before.

There's always a first time for everything.

It seems Eric is wasting no time getting down to business. With a little pop, his fangs descend, and they graze my wrist. I freeze. How uncharacteristic of me.

"Now?" Trying my damndest to get my arm free, I grimace. "We're doing this now?"

He looks along my arm, eyes hooded, and murmurs against my wrist, "I'm hungry."

Personality clashes are a hell of a thing. My stubbornness is my defining characteristic; I like to be in charge, make my own decisions, jump when I damn well want to jump, thank you very much. This kind of attitude doesn't appear to mesh well with Eric. He, it seems, is expecting me to ask 'how high?' When he tells me it's time to eat, I better not argue with him.

I don't like being told what to do, and I scowl up at him. He knows he has me cornered; I need this, as much as I don't want to admit it. I need the money. Making stupid, rash decisions is what got me into this mess in the first place. I just have to be calm. I need to take a breath, steady my nerves.

I need to punch him in the face he looks so smug.

"Bottoms up."

Eric says nothing, just accepts my offering, fangs grazing the flesh, and I have to suppress a shiver at the feeling. It's pointless, I realise, with his lips on my pulse - the smile he gives telling me he knows exactly what he's doing to me. He can definitely feel it quickening, and the pure predatory look in his eye makes me quake in my boots. I'm not frightened, I'm anxious. Excited would be taking it too far, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bursting with anticipation.

Like I said, I can more than handle the rough stuff.

His fangs break the skin, and I can't help but flinch. The pain is quick and sharp and over in an instant, as soon as Eric starts to lap at my blood. If I didn't know any better – and by that I mean if I wasn't aware that this man is actually draining blood from my body – I'd say I was getting a hickey.

He stands up straight, wiping his blood-stained mouth with the back of his hand and pops his fangs away. I can't read him at all, can't gauge his reaction. So I settle for sarcasm.

"Was it good for you?" I ask with a quirked brow.

"Not bad," he says, licking his lips clean. Then, he turns back towards his desk and says, "You can go now."

Not bad? This exercise hasn't only enlightened me about my impulsive nature, but has also shown me I'm the kind of person to get offended about the taste of their blood. Hmm.

"Ah, aren't you forgetting something?" I wave my hand in the air, displaying the bite marks.

He rolls his eyes. "How could I possibly forget?"

Eric's in front of me in a flash again, his fangs out once more. This time, he reaches for them with one of his own fingers extended, and he pricks it against one sharp tip. With his other hand he grabs my wrist and rubs his own blood against the bite marks. I watch, fascinated, as the wounds close up.

"Holy shit," I whisper, examining my flawless skin. "I mean, I've heard about this stuff but seeing it in person. That's impressive."

My unintentional flattery doesn't appear to affect him either. What an ass. Eric, stone-faced, sits back behind his desk and nods towards the door. "I believe that's everything. I'll let you know when you're needed."

"Hmph." I drop my wrist down and pick up my bag. Turning to the door, I shoot over my shoulder, "Your pillow talk leaves a lot to be desired," and make my way through the main area of the club.

Getting the last word in fills me with a smug sense of satisfaction and I can't help but smile as I leave Fangtasia and head to my car. I jump in my car and let out a breath. That was, that was something else. I reach into my bag and pull out my phone, dialling Georgie. I put it on speaker phone as I start my car. After three rings, a voice that is clearly not my best friend's sounds out.

"Hello?"

"Well, if it isn't my favourite child in the world!" I cheer, pulling out of the parking lot.

"Auntie Rose!" I don't like kids – I don't _want_ kids – but Marie Wyatt has a way of fucking with that mentality. She's adorable, a spitting image of her mother with her bright blue eyes and shiny blonde hair. And she loves me. How could I hate her?

"Has your mother already got you answering her calls? I hope she's paying you minimum wage."

"It's on speakerphone, stupid," Georgia says. There's muffled sounds of the phone being handed over and Georgia's voice comes through more clearly now. "So how did it go?"

Even though she can't see me, I shrug. "About as well as expected. I'm alive, richer for the experience."

As soon as I say that, I'm reminded of the fact we didn't discuss anything in the way of payment. I was so eager to have the last word, to walk out of there with my head held high and whatever remains of my dignity that I didn't even consider asking him for money.

Shit.

Asshole Eric is probably well aware of that, too. He's probably in his office laughing at my stupidity. Going back there is so not option. Going back there and asking for money? Not if you paid me.

Georgia giggles, snapping me back to reality. "Where'd he do it?"

"C'mon, Georgie, you know I don't kiss and tell."

"Please," she snorts. "The things you've told me would make Casanova blush."

"That's a gross exaggeration. Anyway, Mr. Northman became very friendly with my wrist."

"Could be worse. What was he like?"

"You do know this wasn't a date, right?"

"I _know,_" Georgia stresses, "but it's still a fair question."

"He's…" Annoying? Condescending? A gigantic pain in my ass? "…Quiet. Very professional during the whole thing. Uh, as professional as you can be in this situation, I suppose."

Georgia lets out a surprised sound, as if she wasn't expecting that response. "It's still pretty early," she says, and I just picture that sly little grin on her lips. "I thought it'd go for much longer."

"Next time I'll be sure to mention he needs to work on his stamina."

* * *

Next time wasn't as soon as I expected.

The next few days pass without incident. I don't hear from Eric and I'm not summoned to the bar. More disturbingly, I don't receive anything in the payment department. I'm not about to admit I made a mistake in not asking about money; I have way too much pride for that.

To amuse myself, I start running more regularly, and when I can afford it, I go out to Bellefleur's and eat with Georgie, sometimes even bumping into Jason. It's a lot less awkward between me and him now, and, thank God, I haven't run into his sister at all since I've been back in town. I believe that situation would transcend awkward entirely, and we'd have to make up a new word for it.

Today, Jason and I have decided to go for a run together. Since he has the afternoon off work and I have way too much time on my hands, I can't even think about saying no. I leave Georgia and Marie to their girl time as Jason knocks on the door of hers house and I greet him with a smile. He grins back and we start stretching – and I take the time to look him over. His arms are on full display thanks to the tank top he's wearing, so I take a gander, my weakness for arms resurfacing like the Loch Ness Monster. Jason was always fit in high school, but this is a whole other level.

"You ready?" He asks, not even realising I've been checking him out. Bless his oblivious heart.

I smirk over at him, jumping in place. "I'm always ready."

"Oh, is that how it's gon' be?"

"That's how it is."

"I thought this was just gonna be a friendly run between two old friends," Jason says with a mischievous glint in his eye. "But I'm startin' to think you want a race."

"I wouldn't do that to you, Jase. That'd just be mean."

He narrows his eyes. "Alright, let's do this. You and me."

It's like déjà vu; I'm pretty sure this is how he asked me out. "You really wanna race against me, hotshot?"

"You're damn right."

"First one to Bellefleur's wins," I say, getting in position. "Loser buys the first round."

Jason nods, in full competition mode. Even I've lost a little of the earlier humour; I can't resist a challenge, especially one I know I can win.

"Ready?" he asks again, mimicking my stance. "On three. One…two…thr-"

"Hey!"

He barely got the word out before he took off, that dirty cheat. I launch myself forward, hoping to God I remember the way to the restaurant. I pump my legs hard, and within a few seconds, I've overtaken Jason. I focus on keeping a steady yet quick pace, all the while going over Georgia's directions to the bar. I can still hear Jason behind me, a few curses slipping out of his mouth. My breath starts coming out in hard puffs and the sweat pools beneath my shirt. Thankfully, in a few minutes, I spot the winding road that leads to Bellefleur's, and sweet victory is in sight.

I slow down, coming to a stop at the steps. I want to let out a triumphant cheer but I'm having a hard time breathing, so I belay that. Jason follows behind me, sweating profusely and breathing heavily.

"Hell," Jason wheezes, bending forward and resting his arms on his knees. "How are you still that damn fast?"

I try to smile, though I think it comes off as more of a pained grimace. My chest is tight and my things are burning, and I have to wipe a gross amount of sweat from my brow. "Years of running away from my problems."

Jason and I head inside once we have our breathing under control. I grab a table as Jason begs Arlene for water. He heads over with two glasses and I reach for it, draining more than half of it at once.

"That was insane," he says. He gulps down his water as a waitress brings over a pitcher of beer.

"You got close, though," I reply. "Colour me impressed."

Jason shakes his head. "I always knew you were fast but that was nuts! Why didn't you go out for track?"

I shrug and wave it off, not wanting to have that conversation. Thankfully, he doesn't press the issue, since he's more concerned with the menu. We order, we eat, we talk. The hours fly by and before I know it, the sun's gone down.

In the middle of one of Jason's stories – something about a shootout at a witches coven - my phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me. I reach down and pull it from the pocket of my tights, expecting the message to be from Georgia, but I frown when I see it came from an unknown number.

_Fangtasia. Two hours._

Three guesses who that was.

"Everything all right?" Jason asks, noticing my expression.

"Yeah, yeah." I put the phone away without replying. Something tells me Eric wouldn't care either way. "Just work. I need to head off soon."

He nods, sipping at his beer. "You doin' stuff with vamps?"

I pause, then try to smile. "What gave it away?"

"You get a work call at sundown," Jason replies, nodding his head towards the window. "I may not be the smartest guy, but I've hung around enough vamps to know how they work. My, uh, girlfriend –"

He stops himself, covering it up with an awkward cough.

"Jason, it's okay. We dated, like, a million years ago." I take a gulp of my own beer and grin. "I'd be worried if you were celibate."

It makes Jason laugh, but he still seems uncomfortable. It sucks the life out of the conversation – pun somewhat intended. I think he's not exactly comfortable talking girlfriends with me, seeing as how we used to date. When the silence becomes unbearable, I force myself to say something.

"So, vampire girlfriend, huh?" And it's usually the wrong thing. "What's she like?"

"She's…" he clears his throat, eyes flickering from side to side. "She's somethin'."

I purse my lips. Oo-kay. Before I can make my getaway, Jason stands up, his chair scraping against the floor. "I gotta go. I'll see you 'round, Rose."

He throws some bills on the table and then he's gone.

I'll admit, I'm usually the one to ditch the guy during a bad date. Being on the receiving end of that is a bit of a blow to the old self-esteem. There's not much time to dwell, though, since I'm off to Fangtasia for round two.

* * *

"You don't talk much, do you?" I say at Fangtasia that night.

Eric doesn't waste any time with pleasantries – save for a little once-over as I walk into his office. His head bows to my wrist and he bites into it before I can say bon a petit. It's probably not the best time to bring it up, not when he's going to town on my wrist again, but I couldn't resist. He is not talkative, not in the slightest. He is just so…cold. It's a bit unnerving.

Eric's eyes flicker up to mine for a short second, and he moves away from dinner to mutter, "You do more than enough talking for the both of us."

He also has no sense of humour. "See, that would've been the perfect time for you to stay silent or grunt or whatever. _Comedy._"

Now he stays silent. I know we established the 'no relationship/no fucking' rule, but I didn't think it meant going into this completely devoid of personality. The pure business relationship is so dull, even after just two sessions of this, and I find myself bored and feeling awkward in the silence. You'd think I have ADD or something.

Eventually – after what feels like a fucking eternity – he sits back and wipes his mouth.

"My mother said it was rude to talk with your mouthful," Eric says.

"Was that a joke?" I gasp, hand on my heart. "Well, shit! Somebody call the preacher, we got ourselves a miracle here!"

He rolls his eyes, healing up my bite without another word. I smile to myself, glad I got some semblance of a reaction out him. Eric runs his hands through his hair and straightens his jacket (that goddamn leather jacket) pointedly ignoring me.

"How did you get my number?" I hazard, shrugging on my own jacket.

"I have my ways."

"Mmm, cryptic," I say dryly. "The only way you could've been more obvious was if you said 'a little birdie told me.'"

"Would Georgia appreciate being called a little birdie?"

"It wouldn't be the worst thing I've called her."

"Sounds like a great friendship."

"Is that another joke? Are you feeling well?"

"I'm quite satisfied."

"Only quite?"

"I'd prefer it if my food didn't talk back."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Trust me, this isn't fun."

"Do you even know how to have fun?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

He's smirking at me now, a strange look in his eye that I can't quite place. Frankly I'm just impressed he and I have had a conversation this long. If his body functioned like a normal human's, I'd expect a vein in his forehead to be throbbing, pulsating with annoyance thanks to yours truly. But most of all, I'm surprised Eric didn't just shut me down or brush me off. We've only done this twice, but I am no closer to figuring him out. Unless this is just his way - fucking around with your expectations so I _couldn't_ get a handle on him.

But that isn't really going to stop me, unfortunately. The small, rational part of me thinks I need to slow this down; pushing his buttons is a laugh now, but one wrong move and I could find myself dead in a ditch.

A comforting thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**thanks for the almighty responses! all of your reviews/favourites/follows make me so happy. in return, I give you a monster of a chapter. I didn't even realise it got so long, and before I knew it, I hit 11 pages. I was going to cut it in half but I decided to be nice to you all.**

**hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

The next morning I wake up feeling drained.

It's not just physical; mentally, I am exhausted. My body isn't coping well with the repeated blood loss, and I want nothing more than to bury my head in the covers and never get out of bed. I'm almost tempted - it's not like I have anywhere to be or anything to do. My bank account is depleting (faster than I approve of) and, whether or not I was on a budget, Bon Temps isn't exactly the fun capital of Louisiana. It's such a depressing thought, the fact I am relegated to staying in bed for lack of anything better to do. This cannot be my life now.

Maybe staying in bed isn't doing anything for my mental health.

I hurl the covers off and plod out to the kitchen, pouring myself a giant glass of orange juice. I down about half of it in one gulp before my phone starts to ring. Georgia's name flashes up (who else?) and I answer it after another sip of juice.

"Hey, Georgie," I say.

"Afternoon, lazybones," she says. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"The best. What's happenin'?"

"Just wanted to let you know that there's going to be a little party at the bar tonight."

"Gosh, a party?" I deadpan. "Sure it's not a hootenanny? Or a hoedown?"

"Do you have to respond to everything sarcastically?"

"I don't think you're going to like the answer." I hear her click her tongue in annoyance and I know she's about to hang up on me. So long, party. "When's this shindig starting?"

"Sundown. Ish."

"Are we expecting some unholy creatures of the night to make an appearance?"

"I don't know if Eric is coming."

I walked right into that one.

"I'm not going to come home from work," Georgia continues, sparing both of us from another round of 'I Hate Him, You Love Him.' "I'll just hang around here. Marie's at her dad's tonight, too; Sam thinks it would be better if she wasn't there tonight."

"Sam who?"

"Sam, the mayor, Sam. I'm sure I told you about him."

"Yeah, chances of me actually listening aren't too high."

I do actually recall Mayor Sam. He used to own the bar where Georgia works before he was all gung-ho about politics. He was practically running unopposed, it almost didn't even matter what his platform was.

"I'll remember that," Georgia says. "Mayor Sam wants to run somethin' by us all tonight. Might be about the Hep-V vamps."

I hum. "Sounds riveting."

"Oh, shut up and be there," she snaps and hangs up. Love you too, Georgie.

* * *

I don't really know what constitutes as 'fashionably late' when it comes to a Bon Temps party, so I decide to turn up to the bar at about 7.30 and the party seems to be in full swing. I weave through the crowd that's gathered outside til I find Georgia, still in her uniform from today's shift. I'm not dressed much better though, my party clothes consisting of jean shorts and a loose fit white shirt.

"Yay," Georgia cheers when I step up to her, "you made it."

"You know I can't resist a good party," I say with a grin. It was either this or laying in bed all night doing fuck all.

"Drink?" she offers, gesturing to the makeshift bar near the restaurant steps.

"Yeah, sure, just grab me a coke."

Georgia raises a skeptical eyebrow but doesn't say anything before moving to the bar. Okay, I'll admit, it is very uncharacteristic of me to not go for the alcohol - and especially when it's free alcohol. But I can't say I'm in the mood for it tonight. I'm still feeling worn out from the feedings and lack of sleep. Maybe, I think, the caffeine and sugar will give me a boost.

I stand around awkwardly, waiting for Georgia to hurry back, when I feel eyes on me. That prickly sensation you get when someone is staring at you, trying to set you on fire with their mind. I glance over my shoulder, spotting Tara, who does actually look like she wants to burn me to a crisp. She glares for a short second, not minding that I am staring right back, before muttering something to the blonde girl and tall, bearded man she's with.

Two weeks back in town and I already have a mortal enemy. That has to be some kind of a record.

Georgia comes back with my drink and when she notices my frown, her brows furrow together. "What's wrong, Rosie Posie?"

"Me and my good friend Tara are catching up," I snark, taking a sip of coke.

"Aw, that's good. You guys haven't spoken in years."

Hold the phone.

I would have assumed Georgia was just making a joke, responding to mine in kind, but she seemed sincere. The sarcasm was, like most times, lost on her. I turn to her, eyes narrowing.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I have never said two words to her - hell, the first time I remember seeing her was on my field trip to Fangtasia.

"You seriously don't know Tara?" Georgia's frown deepens and the poor thing looks confused.

I stare. "You know I don't. We went through this when we went to Shreveport."

"I thought you were kidding!" she cries. "I always assume you're kidding. It's just easier that way."

"Yeah, that's fair," I say, not offended. "So, who the hell is she?"

"We went to school with her. She's Sookie's best friend."

I try not to shudder when I hear the name. "I have never spoken to her in my _life. _And now she's glaring at me like I murdered her puppy."

Georgia takes a discreet sip of her drink, eyeing me over the rim of the glass. She's quiet for a moment, clearly enjoying this. After she swallows and breathes out deeply, she says, "She used to have a huge thing for Jason. And I mean _huge_."

Oh.

_Oh._

"Is this seriously happening?" I ask. "Am I seriously that girl?"

Georgia shrugs. "Tara's nice, really. She just gets a bit...weird when it comes to Jason. Or she used to."

Used to? That is not the face of someone who has come to terms with their feelings. I wasn't lying when I said I had never spoken to Tara before. We were never friends; I had seen her at school and over at Jason's when I visited, but we stayed out of each other's way. Now, I come back to town, not having seen any of these people for a decade, and I'm being treated like I have an 'A' branded on my chest.

"If I knew dating Jason was going to cause me this much trouble in the future, I never would have done it," I say.

"Rose! There you are!"

What impeccable timing.

Jason waves his arm above the crowd and begins to make his way over to me and Georgia. He's pulling someone along behind him, and I immediately brace myself for the worst. Georgia nudges me and i nudge her back. I don't know what she's thinking and frankly, if her attitude about Asshole Eric is anything to go by, it can't be good.

"Hey, how y'all doin'?" Jason greets.

The girl he was leading steps up, and I get 'back off' vibes from her right off the bat. She's striking, her dark hair framing her face and her even darker eyes narrowed just the perfect amount. She is definitely scrutinising us, so I stand a little straighter and give her something to look at.

"This is, uh," Jason goes on, gesturing to the girl, "my...Violet."

"Hi," Violet says, her voice sultry and accented.

"You already know Georgia. And this is Rose." Jason points to me then quickly scratches the back of his neck.

The ex-girlfriend meeting the current girlfriend is never a good situation for any party involved. There's all this internal competition that comes with it, even if, as the ex, you are no longer interested in the mutual friend. Violet hasn't taken her eyes off of me and I know Jason has told her all about us. Whether or not he wanted to is another story altogether.

"So," Jason laughs awkwardly, "how's Marie?"

Georgia takes the hint and smiles. "She's great. Her birthday's comin' up soon and-"

"Who's Marie?" Violet asks, tilting her head up to Jason. "Another girl?"

"She's my daughter," Georgia answers, her smile fading.

There's a terse silence between the four of us after that. Violet winds her arm through Jason's, and he, an automatic response, pulls her close. It should seem cute and romantic but it comes off as forced. Her hooded gaze finds its way back to me, and she looks smug. What the fuck is this about?

"I'm going to go get another drink," I announce a little too brightly.

I spin on my heel and stalk back to the makeshift bar, blowing out my cheeks. I'm starting to think I'm the weird one here. Reaching for the jug of coke, I jump when another hand clamps down on my own. Violet, Jason's current girlfriend and my current annoyance is smiling down at me, though the hard edge in her eye has me a little on edge.

"Rose, is it?" She asks, knowing damn well it is. "I thought maybe we could have a chat, seeing as we have so much in common."

Jason's little flowers. I grin back, trying to free my hand from her iron grip. "What did you have in mind, Viola?"

She grits her teeth through her smile. "My name is Violet, and you know exactly what I want to talk about."

My hand starts to throb as Violet squeezes harder. She's crushing the fingers, sharp pain shooting all around. I clench my jaw, hard, so I don't cry out, even though the scream is threatening to burst out. I won't give her the satisfaction of knowing she's hurting me.

"Jason is mine," Violet says.

"Good for you," I reply as my eyes start to water. "Would you like a trophy?"

"He is _mine,_" she repeats, stressing the word. "And you will stay away from him. Is that clear?"

"We-_ah!"_ I flinch, my arm twitching as she tightens her hold. I swear to God I heard something crack.

Violet leans in close, sniffing me. I can't even make a comment because if I open my mouth, I might squeal. "You shouldn't be so greedy, Rose. You have your own plaything - I can smell him all over you."

She can smell him? Who?

_Eric. _Of course.

"Or is it the other way around?" she continues with a menacing smirk. "I can't see why you would interest a vampire...and an old one at that. There's hardly anything remarkable about you. Unlike others."

She looks past me, over my shoulder. I don't want to take my eyes off of her, scared that she might use the distraction to hurt me even more. But curiosity gets the better of me. Slowly, I turn my head, glancing off in the same direction.

I immediately wish I didn't.

I whip back around to see Violet smirking at me and I glare at her. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She's just fucking with me, but even after knowing me for a grand total of twenty minutes, she sure as hell knows which buttons to push.

At last, she finally releases my hand. I whimper, pulling my hand to my chest and cradling it, barely able to move my fingers.

"We're not going to have a problem, are we?" Violet stares at me with those crazy eyes, unblinking.

Don't be so sure, bitch. "Of course not. I would hate for Jason to think we're not getting along."

My voice quivers with barely disguised pain, which seems to please Violet. She turns on her heel and disappears in the crowd, most likely to have a similar talk with Jason. I'm not going to pretend that I know Jason as well as I used to, but this girl did not seem like his type. The vampire part notwithstanding.

I take

"Hey," I say when I reach Georgie who's now standing with Arlene, "I'm gonna head off."

"What's wrong?" Georgie says, immediately sensing something's amiss. "What did she say to you?"

"Nothin'. Her bite is worse than her bark."

"She bit you?" Arlene is appalled. "That crazy woman, I knew she was trouble. I don't know what Jason sees in her."

"What? No, she didn't - it was a figure of speech. Look, I'll tell y'all about it tomorrow." I give Georgia a one armed hug. "You just enjoy the party."

I ignore the looks on their faces as I smokebomb, avoiding the goodbye lap. I make it to my car, though the mechanics of driving when you're down a hand takes some figuring out. My right hand sits limp in my lap and every slight jolt in the road has me swearing in pain. Eventually, I make it back to the house, practically running to the freezer for an ice pack. My hand has swelled and is still immovable. I hiss when I put the ice pack down thanks to a combination of the pain and the cold.

What a fantastic party.

I'm caught in the uncomfortable position of being the ex-girlfriend of what is apparently Bon Temps' hottest catch. If I'm going to be stuck in this Stackhouse tug-o-war then I am seriously reconsidering my choice to move back here.

When my hand starts to turn numb, I fish out Georgia's first aid kit and attempt to bandage it. It's a clumsy job but it'll have to do, at least until I can get it checked out by a doctor tomorrow. A part of me - a totally unwelcome part - begins to think about asking a certain someone without a medical degree to help me out.

I quash the thought almost as quickly as it came up. That was one of his rules, anyway; no blood for me. Besides, going up to him and asking for his help is a no-win situation. My hand might feel better, but my pride wouldn't. I can just picture that smug smile on his stupid, handsome face.

The front door bursts open and I jump, startled. "Georgie, that you?"

A choked sob is my answer.

I jump out of the chair and rush to the front door where Georgia is crying. Her eyes are red and puffy, her body racked with sobs.

"George, what the hell happened?" She throws her arms around me and cries in my shirt.

I pat her on the back with my good hand before leading her to the couch. I maneuver her so she takes a seat without breaking the tight hug. For the next few minutes I let her cry, trying to soothe her. It's been years since I saw her breakdown like this; probably when I told her I was moving away. Since then, she cried to me over the phone - when she broke up with her boyfriend, when she found out she was pregnant.

And to this day, it still makes me feel uncomfortable.

When she calms down, I pull her back. She wipes her eyes and her nose with the back of her hand.

"We were attacked," she chokes out. "The Hep V vampires attacked us."

"What?" My eyes go wide.

She nods, and hiccups. "Th-they killed Dave."

"Who the fuck is Dave?"

I don't mean to be so crass, not when Georgia is this upset, but I have literally never heard her mention Dave to me before. I joke around that she doesn't tell me certain things even when she insists she has (and she definitely has) but this time I'm being serious. She frowns and her bottom lip juts out.

"You don't know who Dave is?" When I continue staring, her hands fly to the sides of her face. "Oh, my God, I never even told you about Dave!"

"You never even told me about Dave," I repeat.

She swallows, wiping away a few more tears. "Dave is a - he was a vampire. He's been my friend for a few months and I was helping him out by letting him feed off of me and now-now…"

Georgia dissolves into tears once again, burying her head in my shoulder. I know I'm not going to get anymore coherent answers out of her tonight, so I just let her cry. Dave must have been the vampire she mentioned in passing a few days ago when she was convincing me to do the same thing with Eric. I never met him, but with the way Georgia was reacting, they must have been close.

Shit. I can't believe there was an attack. I can't believe I managed to miss it.

Georgia's sobs die down and she starts to doze off on my shoulder. I lay her down on the couch as gently as I could manage and cover her up with the blanket. After I tuck her in all nice and snug, I go to my room and rid myself of my tear-soaked shirt. I throw on a sweatshirt, zipping it up over my bra.

Just when I think the night couldn't get any more exciting, there's a knock on the door. I seriously consider not answering - what kind of person would go out after what happened at the party? - but my own special brand of stupid wins out in the end. Georgia doesn't stir as I creep towards the door, keeping an eye out for anything I could use as a weapon if it comes down to it.

With a deep breath, I open the door.

Oh.

This kind of person, apparently.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask.

"Charming," Eric says, and I resist the urge to stick out my tongue. He's leaning against the door frame, a perfect image of nonchalance that's so sexy I hate myself. His eyes trail up and down my sweatshirt clad body. "Nice of you to dress up. Hope you didn't do that just for me."

I shove my hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt and glare. "I'd ask how you know where I'm staying but I'm afraid of the answer."

"I was in the neighbourhood," he continues casually, "and I decided to stop by."

"Bullshit."

His lips twitch. "I have some business to attend to and I thought it best if I fill up before I leave."

Ah.

There's no unexpected grand gesture of coming by to check on my well being, no trace of concern. Why would there be? He talks about me - to me - like I'm a gas station and he's a luxury sports car. I should be _honored _he chose me.

I reach up and brush my loose hair out of my face, trying to appear unperturbed. I fail miserably since I used the hand lovely Violet had crushed. It's still so tender and sore and I wince straight away.

"What happened to your hand?" Eric asks, face unreadable.

"Oh, nothin'." I'm not going to complain to him; this is just business. I shove my hand in my pocket again and say, "I just made a new friend tonight."

"Do all of your friendships start out like this?"

"Just the good ones."

He murmurs. Then, "Let me in so I can be on my way."

I pause then slowly, I begin to smile. I can't help myself. This is too good. "Um, that might be a problem."

Oh, yeah, I'm going to regret this. But for right now, I'm giddy.

Eric scowls at me, pushing himself off the doorframe. "Rose, invite me in. I am in no mood for games."

"Are you ever?"

I practically feel the anger radiating from him. It will end badly for me, I'm sure, but now, it's a nice change from the normal, stoic Eric I've come to know. He braces himself, hands either side of the door, ready to pounce. The look of utter frustration on his face is enough to make me want to burst out laughing; I bite my cheek, but a little giggle escapes nonetheless.

"Invite me in," he says in a low, dangerous voice.

"I can't." I'm trying my hardest not to smile, I swear.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't live here."

He straightens up, eyes narrowed. That little tidbit must have slipped his mind. Technically, I'm just squatting here; we've established my stay is temporary and this house belongs to Georgia. I have no vampire-inviting powers whatsoever. This imposition really seems to piss him off and I would be remiss if I didn't exploit it. I want to ask why it's so important that he has to be inside to feed, but I guess it's just tit for tat; I'm annoying him, so he annoys me right back. It's a vicious cycle.

"Then go and get Georgia so I can come inside," he says slowly, like I'm a petulant child.

"She's asleep," I stress. "Her friend died tonight. You know, when everyone was attacked?"

"I don't care about her friend. We're just wasting time here - or do you not want to be paid?"

Fucking.

I check over my shoulder to make sure Georgia is still sleeping before - very hesitantly - I step out onto the porch. The instant I'm across the threshold, Eric yanks me forward and I yelp.

"Ow! Jesus, watch it, asshole." I stumble, and the movement causes pain to flare in my hand. Yep, that bitch definitely broke something.

"Next time," Eric says, as his fangs descend, "don't try my patience,"

He grabs my uninjured hand and pulls up the sleeve. Like always, there's no need for pleasantries and he is not at all gentle as he bites into my wrist, though, he earns points for going for the uninjured hand. My right hand is throbbing beneath the bandages, but there is no way in hell I'm going to ask him for help; he'd probably laugh and tell me it's against the rules. That, and I am just too damn proud. So I just stay silent and wait for it to be over.

Ha, that'll be the day.

"Why me?" I blurt out. I can't help but think of what Violet said to me tonight. As much as I don't want to give her the satisfaction of getting under my skin, I can't help it. I can't reconcile the fact I'm in this position because I'm so unremarkable.

Eric looks at me, pausing from drinking only to reply with his own question. "Haven't you asked me this before?"

"Yeah, but your answer wasn't satisfying."

"It definitely isn't your charming personality," he murmurs against my wrist.

I scoff. "Please, you find me riveting."

"My meals aren't normally this challenging." He finishes feeding, moving my wrist away from his mouth and licking his lips (a gesture which I should not find so hot).

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't intended as one."

"Admit it, you find me charming."

At last, he heals my wrist, although I do sense a bit of reluctance in that. "I find you infuriating," he says matter-of-factly. "Infuriating to the point of insufferable."

My smile grows and I laugh. "Why, Mr. Northman, I think you might be sweet on me."

There is the smallest hint of a smile on his bloodstained lips and a little glint of mischief in his eye. He lets my wrist fall back to my side and runs a hand through his hair, despite the fact there is not a single hair out of place. I find myself in the uncomfortable position of imagining what it would be like to thread my own fingers through it, and I have to stop myself before I swoon.

"Well, this was fun, as always," I say, clearing my throat.

"I should be back in two days. Meet at Fangtasia when I return."

I give him a mock salute. "Lookin' forward to it."

Eric looks down at me for a short moment, saying nothing, before he vanishes into the night. I'm beginning to think he's bipolar or something; his mood swings are giving me whiplash. I walk back inside Georgia's house, happy to see our little scene didn't wake her up. I don't know how she'll be in the morning and honestly, I am not looking forward to the fallout of the attack.

I don't even make it to my room before there's another knock on the door. I swivel on my heel, a thousand retorts already running through my head.

"Miss me already?" I ask as I open the door, but my sarcastic smile is immediately wiped off my face when I see who's standing on Georgia's porch.

Well, fuck me sideways.


	6. Chapter 6

**[whispers] hi. **

* * *

For the second time tonight, I find myself saying, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Rick Matheson is the perfect picture of a businessman. Rarely seen in anything other than a sharp suit with his brown hair slicked back, he's the editor of a prominent newspaper in New Orleans. He makes no attempt to hide his success, nor does he apologise for it.

He is also my former boss and ex-boyfriend.

Even now, at 11.30 at night, he's in a crisp suit, perfectly tailored, looking so out of place on Georgia's quaint porch. Rick smiles at me, that charming, lopsided grin I'm sure he's spent years upon a time, it used to make me melt, but now I'm just surprised at the complete lack of effect it has. He's an objectively handsome man - chiseled jaw, deep brown eyes, even a little cleft in his chin - it's just a shame when you realise what kind of shit comes out of his mouth.

"I actually came through here for business," he says. "I thought I'd drop by and see you."

I'm having the weirdest case of deja vu right now. "Well, you've seen me. Have a nice night."

I try to shut the door in his face but he catches it easily, prying it back open. "Really, Rose? Don't act like such a child."

"Don't pretend you can tell me what to do." I fold my arms across my chest. "How did you even find me?"

"I called your mother," Rick says smoothly. "She was more than happy to help me."

"I bet she was." My mother would do anything for Rick - or any other man with a dazzling smile and a huge bank account for that matter. "So, what the hell do you want?"

He takes a deep breath to calm himself, probably counting to ten in his head. It was a mechanic he had adopted during the course of our relationship. Can't imagine why.

"I wanted to see you," Rick says. "Since I'm in town, I was thinking we could catch up. We left things a little open-ended back in New Orleans."

"I don't see what's so open-ended about me punching you in the face."

Rick flinches when I say that, the wound still too fresh. It was an abrupt end to the relationship - both romantic and professional, seeing as how I did it in the office, in full view of every other employee, before I quit my job and left town without another word.

Then, I pause, thinking. I am currently in a financial and personal crisis because of this, because I was impulsive and rash. I act without thinking and it comes back to bite me in the ass. I said to myself when I started this...thing with Eric that I would take some time to work shit out.

Take a second to think now, Rose.

Maybe you made a mistake.

"I have an important dinner in a few days," Rick says, "come with me. It'd be good for you. For us."

It's not a request; it's never a request with Rick. He stares at me expectantly with those big eyes and I start to chew on my bottom lip; that pleading look is just too much and I can't take it anymore.

"One dinner," I reply quickly and regret it almost immediately.

He smiles again. "Great, I'll pick you up at seven."

After one more dashing smile, Rick lets me close the door. I pause on the other side, trying to sort out what the fuck just happened. What exactly have I gotten myself into now? This is trouble and I know it.

Ah, hell, if he pisses me off I can just punch him again.

* * *

I don't think I slept at all that night. I was tossing and turning and my brain refused to shut off.

I had really expected Bon Temps to still be the boring, quiet, little town I remember from my childhood. Moving back here was a way to get away from drama, not to be thrust into life-threatening situations involving ex-girlfriends, vampires, or a deadly combination of both. I also never expected my problems to follow me here; things with Rick ended terribly and I hadn't prepared for any scenario that involved him turning up on my porch at a ridiculous hour of the night.

The only thing I'm thankful for was his impeccable timing. Had he arrived when I was casually getting my blood drained by a vampire, things might have gone a little differently to say the least. I can't say for sure if it would be better or worse, though. For one thing, I might not have to go on this stupid date. But there would also be the strong possibility Eric would have pulled Rick's throat out after he makes some dumbass anti-vampire remark.

I huff out a breath and continue to stare at the ceiling. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

The next morning I meet a bleary-eyed Georgia in the kitchen, not looking much better than I am. She's sitting at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of coffee in front of her, and she's staring out at nothing.

"I just got off the phone with Sam," she says in a flat voice. "Tara's dead, too."

"Holy shit," I reply. I stop myself from asking 'how are you?' because it's a stupid question. Of course she's not doing alright. Her friends have just been murdered, and I'm in the awkward position of feeling sorry but not too sorry because I didn't even know them. I shuffle my feet, totally unsure of what to do or say.

"The bar's closed for a while," Georgia continues, saving me. "A few days, maybe."

She lets the rest go unsaid. A few days without pay. A twinge of guilt pools in my stomach and I clench my jaw. I hate not being able to help my best friend out, I hate that Eric has pissed off to God knows where, and I hate that I my pride is stopping me from asking about payment.

"Georgie," I try, but she stands, throwing her hands up in the air.

"So many people have died," she cries a little hysterically. "I don't know why I'm so surprised anymore. I should just expect it by now."

I stay silent after her uncharacteristic outburst, hovering in the kitchen doorway like a weirdo.

Georgia sighs and attempts to smile. "I'm gonna go pick up Marie from her dad's. I'll see you tonight, 'kay?"

"'Kay," I say letting her go.

Once Georgie's left, I drown myself in coffee, hoping to God it makes me feel even slightly better about the next few days.

It doesn't.

* * *

"I need a dress," I announce, bursting into Georgia's room the next day.

Most of yesterday was spent in silence as Georgia worked through the onslaught of grief. She has brightened up a lot more today, not one to stay gloomy for extended periods of time. Of course she's still upset, but we both try not to bring up what happened at the party. And I have the perfect distraction for her.

She looks away from her mirror long enough to narrow her eyes at me. "Why?"

"Because," I say as I flop onto her bed, "I have a date."

"Ooh," Georgia says and leaps up from her vanity, clapping her hands together excitedly. I know exactly what she's thinking and I can't wait to disappoint her.

"It's not with Eric."

"Oh." She deflates. "Then who? Jason?"

I scoff, "Yeah, right. Do you think I have a death wish or something? It's with Rick."

"Rick. Newspaper Rick? Your old boss Rick? Called you an idiot and you punched him in the nose Rick?"

"That's the one."

"Um." Georgia joins me on the bed. "Can I ask why?"

"You can, but I don't really have an answer for you."

I relay last night's meeting to her, leaving out the part with Eric beforehand; I don't really need her losing her mind over late night visits from him. Not when I have bigger problems at hand.

When I finish, Georgia has pursed her lips. "And you just agreed? That's so unlike you."

"Exactly!" I sit up, crossing my legs underneath me, my epiphany filling me with a renewed energy. "I feel like I'm in the middle of this clusterfuck of a situation because I don't think things through. I have no job, no money, no place to live. Maybe I should be doing things differently."

Georgia looks like she's about to reply, but she snaps her mouth shut.

"What?" I ask slowly. "I thought you'd be proud of me. Growing up. Being responsible and shit."

Even I'm not convinced when I say it out loud. I blow out a breath; if I don't do this, what am I supposed to do? Stay on as a blood whore for the rest of my life? Or until Eric gets sick of me, whichever one comes first. Wow, that is a thought that makes my mood plummet and I banish it straight away.

"I can't keep doing this forever, right?" I look over to her and she's staring at me, the most serious I've seen her in a long time.

"What do you want to do?" she asks me.

"I...I don't know."

It's a simple question, but even with all my selfishness, it's enough to give me pause. It's never been about what I want to do. For a long time, my life was driven by necessity; working since I was fifteen, moving homes, never having the time to think about doing something for pleasure. When I finally got a decent job at the newspaper - even if it was just an assistant position - I felt secure enough to do things I wanted. I could go out dancing, I could spend an obscene amount on a pair of shoes, I was comfortable. Happy.

Then I go ahead and make a dumbass decision on the spur of the moment and it all comes crashing down. I must get that from my mom.

"Anyway," I say, desperate to change the subject and doing my best to ignore the fact this dinner was also another impulsive decision, "weren't you the one who said I overreacted when I hit Rick?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think that meant you have to have a personality transplant. You overreacted because that's what Rose does."

Should I be offended?

"Hm. Well, now Rose is going to think things over and work shit out." I swing my legs off the bed and jump over to Georgia's wardrobe. "And to do that, I need a dress."

Georgia is shorter and a lot curvier than I am, so finding a dress of hers that would fit me was a challenge in itself.

It took a couple of hours and piles of clothes strewn across the floor before we found something even close to passable. It's a light blue, short-sleeved dress, with a pretty lace pattern on the bodice. The flowy skirt hits me just above the knee and with my strappy heels, I can make it work. According to Georgie, this is a 'pre-Marie' dress, so it was guaranteed to fit me better than anything post-baby.

I throw my hair up in a stylish ponytail and put on a layer of makeup. By then, it's almost seven and I have nothing left to do but wait for Rick.

"I still don't think you should be going out," Georgia says for the eight hundredth time tonight, bouncing Marie on her hip. "What if the vampires attack again?"

"If the date's going poorly I'll probably thank them," I reply.

"Wow, you sure sound like a girl who's excited to be going on a date," she says with a roll of her eyes.

Truth is, I am so not excited. Rick is all fancy restaurants and expensive wine, two things I'm pretty sure don't actually exist in Bon Temps. I'm not looking forward to upturned noses and comments about the 'simple country decor'.

Why did I agree to this again?

"It's funny," Georgia says, grinning.

"What's funny?" I ask, toying with the bandage around my hand. "I mean other than my awesome jokes."

"Rick and Eric," she giggles. "_Eric _and_ Rick_. I think you're...what's the word, projecting?"

I snort. "Are you a comedian or a psychiatrist?"

"See, now you're avoiding it."

"There's nothing to avoid, it's just a coincidence." An awful, awful coincidence.

"Uh huh." Georgia is unconvinced, but I ignore her.

I'm saved from further interrogation because at exactly seven on the dot, there's a knock on the door. I pull myself up from the couch, grab my purse, and kiss Georgie and Marie on their cheeks. "See y'all later. Don't wait up."

"Be good," Georgie calls.

I swing open the door, winking over my shoulder. "No promises."


	7. Chapter 7

I am so bored I think my eyes are literally going to roll out of my skull.

Since we arrived at the restaurant - a nice French place just outside of Shreveport - and met up with our dinner companions, Rick had said no more than ten words to me. It didn't take me long at all to realise I was only here to look pretty and be shown off like a trophy wife. It was just convenient that his dinner was the same town where I am currently in self-imposed exile.

Date, my ass.

Rick introduced me to the middle-aged man who was waiting for us there, Vince Gibson. Says he ran for mayor against Sam Merlotte and, unfortunately, he lost. I smiled politely and tittered like I was supposed to and then I was of no consequence to either of them.

I have no interest in politics. My interest is so beyond nonexistent that I can't even fake it even if I want to. A relationship with Rick practically relied on me faking it and I'm honestly tired of it.

"I always knew there was somethin' wrong with Merlotte," says Vince, stabbing his fork in the air to emphasise his point. "And now I've seen it with my own eyes?"

Rick was nodding solemnly. "It's all the ammunition we need."

"Well," Vince chuckles, "it's not all that we need."

The two of them laugh at the joke - at least I think it's a joke - and I screw my face up.

"Is there much interest here in Bon Temps?" Rick continues, sipping on his wine. "

"Oh, yeah," Vince says, "especially after the attack at Bellefleur's. People are angry and they want something done. They're just waiting for someone to lead them to it."

"What the hell are you two talking about?"

Rick glances at me, like he's suddenly realised I was actually there. He pats my arm and shakes his head. "Nothing for you to worry about, sweetie. Just discussing a business proposition."

"Right."

Ah, the ol' Rick Matheson brush off. That is something I haven't missed. It was a staple of our relationship; whenever I was invited to business dinners (much like this one, apparently) I was only there to be seen not heard, not to be involved in any of the serious discussions.

Shh, honey, men are talking.

I huff out a breath and stare down at my untouched desert. The craving is there, I'm practically salivating right now, but I ignore it. The souffle isn't worth the glare that Rick would give me; he's already said my dress was too short, that these were respectable people we were meeting with tonight and I should look the part.

I should've just flipped him off and left him.

But I didn't.

I just smiled.

This is New Rose.

Shit.

Vince, God bless the creepy looking man, seems to notice the increased tension. He clears his throat, signalling for the check. "Maybe we should move this someplace else, Rick. I was hoping to give you a hands on experience, as it were."

"Who can say no to that?" Rick says, his eyes lingering on my a moment longer. "It's probably best I take Rose home, anyway."

"Excuse me?" What am I, his daughter?

"Rose," he warns.

I roll my eyes. "You know what? Don't even bother, I have somewhere to be anyway." I push up from the table, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "Enjoy your hands on."

* * *

I always feel so satisfied after a storm off, but as the cab turns into Fangtasia's parking lot, the high gives way to panic.

As soon as I saw the empty carpark and the neon sign turned off, I should have known something was wrong. It's totally creepy and I'm half expecting tumbleweed to drift by.

"I don't think it's open, lady," the cab driver says to me, a little wary.

No shit.

I throw him some money and let him tear off like a bat out of hell. He wasn't too thrilled about taking me here to begin with, but 'a job's a job,' he told me. As I stalk across the empty lot, I fold my arms over my chest in an inane attempt to protect myself. When I push open the door, I expect to hear the crowd and feel the bass of the music pumping through the speakers, but there was nothing. The chairs are stacked on the tables, the usual red lights are off. It didn't look like it was open at all tonight.

Fangtasia was dead.

I should turn around and leave, maybe send Eric a text message or something. I hadn't heard from him since he left on whatever important asshole vampire business he had to attend to

"Hello?" Instead, I call out, my voice echoing through the empty room. "Anyone home?"

Then, I hear a bottle smash.

I jump, goosebumps prickling my skin and my heart beating rapidly.

"Who the hell are you?" a woman shrieks from behind the bar, holding up a broken bottle, ready to attack me. "Answer me!"

"Jesus Christ!" I skid back, holding my hands up defensively.

She's scrawny, all skin and bone, in an outfit that would make a stripper blush. Her eyes are wide and her wiry blonde hair is a mess as she brandishes the bottle at me. Involuntarily, I grimace as I catch sight of all the bite marks on her neck, her chest, her arms. Thank God for the foresight I had to make Eric heal those bites for me.

"Bar's closed, get the fuck out!" She screeches, and my ears are probably bleeding right now. "Or I'm gonna- I'll gut you!"

"Woah, woah. I'm Rose," I say, my hands still in the air. "I'm looking for Eric?"

The woman narrows her eyes.

"Or... Pam? Anyone?" Anyone sane?

The bottle clatters to the ground and she bursts into tears. "They ain't here! I don't know where anyone is. Pam just tore outta here as soon as the sun went down sayin' something's wrong and we're not opening tonight and then she just left me! They don't tell me anything!"

"Uh…"

I'm totally unsure of what to do here; I don't even know if the immediate danger of being glassed has passed. I shift awkwardly, though my body is still tense.

"I'm just gonna…" I lick my lips and thrust my thumb over my shoulder. "I'm gonna go."

She chokes out another sob and waves her hand.

"Alrighty." I spin on my heel and race out of the club.

There's no message on my phone and I try to ignore that little disappointment that threatens to bubble up. My night hasn't exactly been going swimmingly, so I shouldn't have expected it to start now. Not that blood whoring is my idea of a good night. But even I have to admit it'd have been a hell of a lot better than whatever the fuck happened at dinner tonight.

I hail down another cab, throw myself in the back seat, and let out the mother of all dramatic sighs.

I rip the hair tie out, running my hand through my hair. It stings when I do, and I grimace. Then I'm just reminded of the fact that Rick didn't even seem to notice my hand was bandaged up. Or if he did, he didn't bother to ask. I'm not sure which is worse.

Fuck me.

Georgia was right. Going out with Rick was just not a good idea.

What had I been thinking, really?

That Rick was safe.

Normal.

Now I just laugh at myself.

I'm finally back at Georgie's and the cab absolutely cleans me out. I kiss those precious dollars goodbye and saunter up to the porch, sighing at this complete waste of a night.

What am I doing?

It's a question I have asked myself too much, one that I still do not have an answer for.

I'm on the porch, fishing my keys out of my purse when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There's a noise, footsteps, like someone is following me. I stand, frozen like a statue, my mind screaming at me to run, run and lock yourself inside the house. But of course, my life has been all about bad decisions lately. I turn, glancing over my shoulder, ready to run if I had to.

"Eric?" I call out, my stomach dropping.

It's him, I know, but he's not right.

Is that…?

Shit.

"Eric, what happened?"

I take a step closer, gasping when he falls to his knees.

There's blood everywhere, some of it his own, most of it...probably not his. From the distance I can make out bullet holes in his chest and arms, blood seeping through the tank top. The blood isn't what shakes me, though: Eric looks absolutely feral. His hair is a mess, his fangs descended, his eyes wild. Like an animal he's grunting, gasping, barely able to stay upright. I can't help tremble; the sight isn't one I'm used to and I don't know what he's about to do to me.

Does he need help? Or is he here to kill me?

Then, in a flash, he's behind me, holding me close to him as his fangs sink into my neck. White hot pain sears through me and I scream. It hurts, oh God it hurts. His teeth tear into my throat and his grip tightens, like he's squeezing the blood out of me. My nails dig into his arms, desperately trying to pull him off, to make him stop. He doesn't stop. Eric just keeps drinking. It's useless to fight; even as weak as he appeared he's too strong for me. I can feel a tear escape my eye, trailing down my cheek.

"Please...no," I whimper. My arms drop, limp at my sides, the life and the fight leaving my body as he drains them both out of me.

Then everything goes black.


End file.
